The other day I walked over to the baseball stadium to catch a game. Two little Tigers followed me.
These were very fierce little tigers:
We had good seats. The drunks behind us could yell at the left fielder and the guy in center field.
They made it seven innings in the seats before they had to walk around. Two ball park hot dogs and some smuggled-in juice boxes helped.
We bought overpriced hats. A kid needs a ballcap at the ballpark, I figured. Back home, the tigers turned back into kids who wanted to play ball for the rest of the afternoon.
This is apparently how little tigers celebrate a home run:
Next time I am totally not going to intentionally miss that tag at the plate.
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